Enjoy!

Thin Line Pt. 2

Mercedes stood at the kitchen counter, carefully arranging her freshly made chicken parmesan on plates. The scent of garlic and marinara sauce filled the spacious penthouse, making it feel a little more like home. Her best friends, Sebastian Smythe and Jane Hayward, sat at the island, sipping wine and catching her up on their busy lives. It had been almost a year since they were all together, and tonight felt like a celebration.

Dressed in scrubs after a long day at the hospital, Jane leaned her chin on her hand. "You wouldn't believe it, Ledes," she said, using the nickname she'd given Mercedes in college. "My last patient was a seven-year-old with a congenital heart defect. The surgery was over six hours, and the kid's mom was in tears the entire time. I'm just glad it went well, but man, I'm exhausted."

Sebastian smirked, swirling his glass of Pinot Grigio. "Meanwhile, I'm babysitting adults who can't tell their assets from their liabilities. Do you know how often I've had to explain the same financial projection to people who supposedly have MBAs this week? It's like working with a pack of particularly stupid golden retrievers."

Mercedes laughed, shaking her head as she pulled the brownies out of the oven. "Some things never change. Jane's saving lives, Bas is herding the financially incompetent, and I'm over here making brownies." She placed the dessert on the cooling rack, the caramel drizzles glistening under the kitchen lights.

"Don't downplay yourself," Jane said, wagging a finger. "Those brownies alone could bring peace to the world. And this chicken parmesan smells like heaven."

Mercedes grinned as she drained the angel hair pasta in the sink. "You flatter me. But seriously, I missed this. Just sitting around and talking with you two. It's been way too long."

Sebastian raised his glass. "To us, the chaotic trio. May we always eat well and avoid unnecessary drama."

As if on cue, the front door swung open.

The laughter died down as Sam strolled in, exuding his usual cocky energy. Draped over his arm was a woman who looked at least ten years older than him but carried herself like a twenty-something. She was tall, with long legs that seemed to go on forever in her skintight dress, and she clung to Sam like he was her lifeline.

"Oh, Sammy!" the woman squealed, her voice saccharine and just a little too loud. "I didn't know you hired a chef for me! How thoughtful!"

Mercedes froze, her hands tightening on the pasta strainer. She muttered something under her breath that Jane and Sebastian didn't catch but knew wasn't polite.

Sam smirked, his gaze sliding to Mercedes. "Anything for you, Charlie?" Then, addressing Mercedes with mock seriousness, he added, "We'll take our food to my room. Be sure to add extra parmesan on mine, Chef." He snapped his fingers.

Sebastian's eyebrows shot up as he exchanged a look with Jane, both clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Mercedes turned slowly, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "if you snap your fingers at me one more time, I will break said fingers off. You can go fuck yourself, Evans."

Sam's smirk widened, clearly entertained. "That's what Charlie's here for."

Jane choked on her wine, coughing into her hand, while Sebastian leaned back in his seat, clearly struggling not to laugh.

Mercedes grabbed a nearby kitchen towel and pointed it at Sam like a weapon. "If you think for one second—"

"Relax, Mercedes," Sam interrupted, holding up a hand. We're just grabbing a quick bite after our fun to keep our energy up. You can spare it. You don't need to get all worked up."

Charlie tilted her head, looking at Mercedes curiously. "I don't know who you are, but you're awfully feisty for a chef. I like it." She turned to Sam. "She's fun."

"Oh yeah, she's plenty of fun," Sam quipped, winking at Mercedes before leading Charlie toward his room.

As the door to Sam's bedroom closed behind them, Mercedes let out a long breath, her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

Sebastian finally broke the silence. "Well, that was...something."

Jane nodded, her lips twitching into a smirk. "What exactly is the deal between you two?"

Mercedes groaned, tossing the kitchen towel onto the counter. "He's Mitch's idiot best friend and the bane of my existence. That's the deal."

Sebastian sipped his wine, clearly unconvinced. "Right. You keep saying that, but in the eight years I have known you, you are getting increasingly angry at the man. And neither of us believes that you flipping him off just now had *nothing* to do with unresolved tension."

"Eat your damn chicken parmesan," Mercedes snapped, but her friends' knowing laughter followed her as she turned back to the stove.

Mercedes leaned back in her chair, a satisfied smile tugging at her lips as her friends devoured her chicken parmesan. The mood was warm, the clinking of cutlery against plates blending with soft laughter.

"So, Ledes," Jane started, twirling angel hair pasta around her fork. What have you been up to these days? I feel like you're always jet-setting around. It was with Tom Holland and Zendaya, filling in for his brother, and now with Tana, Britt, and Q. What kind of trouble did you guys get into because we all know the Unholy Trinity thrives off trouble?"

Mercedes chuckled a sparkle of mischief in her eyes. "Trouble? Always. You know how those girls are—they don't know how to have a boring night. On nights when they weren't on stage, Santana practically dragged us to every club, and Brittany convinced a whole bar to join a synchronized dance-off. It was fun, though. Mostly."

Jane leaned forward, smirking. "Yeah, fun enough for you to grab the mic. You were born to sing on that stage. I'm honestly surprised you never took your demo anywhere."

Mercedes's smile faltered slightly. She looked down at her plate, idly moving her fork around. "Singing was fun, but... it's not my path. I'm a three-Michelin-star chef. Cooking is where my heart is. When I worked at Tavola, I built my reputation. That's what I love."

Sebastian nodded thoughtfully, setting his wine glass down. "Fair enough. Your cooking skills are unmatched. But, Merce…" He arched an eyebrow. "You brought us out to their Vegas Concert; we saw you on that stage. You were flawless, and that song you did with Holy Trinity, both recording and on that stage, went number one and stayed there for ten weeks! I remember how excited you were about that demo. One minute you're talking about becoming a star, and the next you're saying, 'Oh, never mind.'"

Jane nudged her. "Come on, spill. What really happened?"

Mercedes stiffened, her fingers tightening around her fork. The vibrant warmth in the room dimmed for her, though her friends' concerned faces kept the atmosphere intact.

But at that moment, she realized that she had to tell someone else what had happened, and it was better to tell Sebastian and Jane before telling Mitch; this would ease her into telling her brother.

Letting out a slow breath, she closed her eyes. "I didn't tell anyone but Trinity what really happened. Santana almost lost her mind when she found out—cussing in Spanish, threatening everyone, even pulling a razor blade out of her hair." Mercedes tried to smile at the memory but failed.

Jane's brows furrowed, and she nudged her again, this time more gently. "Ledes. Tell us."

Mercedes sat back, her voice soft but steady. "Trinity introduced me to one of her producers. Not the one who did 'Fire,' the song I sang with Trinty, but a different one. I would have preferred to work with Artie, but he was busy. The guy I met in his place was named Will. At first, he was...nice, you know? Maybe it's overly nice. Told me I was beautiful and that I had an equally beautiful voice, said he could make me a star." Her fingers toyed with the edge of her napkin. "I believed him. I was so excited. We recorded a song when Trinity was on break, and it was fun. He was attentive and helpful. I really thought he was a good guy. Boy, was I wrong. About two weeks ago, after the tour was over, we started working together daily. I wanted to surprise you all, so I only told Trinity. We had four songs down, and I felt seen and like I mattered. But then, after one day of recording demos, things got...weird."

Sebastian frowned. "Weird, how?"

Mercedes swallowed hard. "He kept saying I looked hungry and ordered us food, even when I told him I wasn't. And then...he started rubbing my shoulders, and when I told him I was good, he found ways to touch me. Realizing what he was doing, I told him I wasn't interested, but he wouldn't stop."

She paused, her throat tightening. "He stood up, looked me dead in the eyes, and said, 'If you want your demo completed, you're going to have to give a little.'" Her voice broke on the last word. "Then he came closer and kissed me—without my consent. I pulled away, but...he tried to..."

Her words trailed off, and she shook her head, her gaze fixed on the table. "Mitch's self-defense training came in handy, and I made sure he got the message, but afterward, I felt so...dirty. I couldn't go back there. I couldn't even think about singing again without feeling sick."

The room fell silent, the weight of her confession hanging in the air.

Jane reached out and placed a hand over hers. "Mercedes, I'm so sorry."

Sebastian's jaw tightened, his eyes dark with anger. "That piece of shit. Please tell me Santana at least roughed him up."

Mercedes let out a shaky laugh. "She tried. But I wouldn't let her. It wasn't worth it. I just...walked away."

Jane squeezed her hand. "You didn't deserve that. None of it."

Mercedes nodded, her throat thick with emotion. "I know. But I'm okay now. I have my career, my friends, and my life. I got a call that Guy Fieri wants me to be on season 5 of Tournament of Champions, that show on Food Network, as well as a guest judge on Masterchef. And honestly, that's enough for me."

Sebastian and Jane stared at her before Sebastian raised his glass. "To survival, then. And to you, for being stronger than any of us ever knew."

Mercedes managed a small smile, clinking her glass with his. "To survival."

And as they raised their glasses, the warmth in the room returned slowly but surely, wrapping them all in its comforting embrace.

The kitchen was quiet now, save for the soft dishes clinking as Mercedes cleaned up. Jane and Sebastian had left with packed containers of leftovers, thanking her profusely for the meal. She smiled at the thought of them digging into her food later, but her smile faded as she turned to wrap up the brownies on the counter.

The faint sound of a door opening made her pause. She glanced up just as Sam strolled into the kitchen, shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He ran a hand through his messy blond hair, yawning like he hadn't just spent the evening entertaining a woman loud enough to wake the whole floor.

Mercedes clenched her jaw, focusing on the task at hand, but when Sam scooted past her and grabbed a plate, she couldn't help but glare at him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she snapped.

Sam smirked, piling chicken parmesan onto the plate like it was his personal buffet. "Getting dinner. Thanks for cooking, by the way. Smelled great."

"I didn't cook for you," she said, her voice sharp.

He glanced at her lazily and shrugged. "You're living in my house. Consider this payment for that privilege."

Mercedes's nostrils flared, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Sam leaned against the counter, watching her with that infuriating smirk. "At least you're good at something. Makes up for you being an absolute nightmare."

She froze, narrowing her eyes at him. "Idiota," she muttered under her breath, the Spanish rolling off her tongue effortlessly—a skill picked up from years of dealing with Santana.

"What was that?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mercedes shot him a pointed look. "You're a dumbass," she said plainly before storming out of the kitchen.

Sam watched her go, a faint grin tugging at his lips. She was fiery; he'd give her that. But he quickly dismissed the thought and turned back to the counter, finishing his plate like nothing had happened.

In her room, Mercedes tried to focus on unwinding, but the faint thudding of music and muffled laughter from Sam's side of the penthouse grated on her nerves. She flopped onto her bed, groaning. The walls weren't thin, but Sam's tendency to entertain made it feel that way.

"Unbelievable," she muttered, grabbing her headphones from the nightstand. She moved to her balcony, the cool night air brushing against her skin as she sat in the cushioned chair she'd claimed as her spot.

Sliding her headphones on, she let her favorite playlist drown out the noise of Sam's antics. She glanced toward the dark sky, stars barely visible against the city's glow.

"Just a few more days," she whispered to herself. "Mitch will be back soon, and I won't have to deal with him anymore."

As the music carried her away, she closed her eyes, willing herself to ignore the chaos on the other side of the penthouse. It wasn't easy, but it was better than giving Sam Evans the satisfaction of knowing he got under her skin.

Sam opened the door to the penthouse, holding it wide as Charlie pouted at him, her hands on her hips.

"Sammy," she whined, dragging out his name in a way that was supposed to be seductive. "It's late. Let me stay the night. I can keep you company."

Sam smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. "You know the deal, Charlie. Sex, then leave. Nothing more."

She huffed, stepping closer, her manicured fingers brushing over his bare chest. "Come on, baby. I can make it worth your while."

He caught her wrist gently, removing her hand from his chest. "Not happening."

Her expression darkened, and she let out a frustrated growl. "You're such a jerk!"

"Yep," he replied, unfazed. "Goodnight, Charlie."

She stormed past him with a dramatic toss of her hair, her heels clicking angrily against the floor as she headed for the elevator. Sam shut the door behind her with a sigh of relief, but when he turned back after hearing a knock, he was surprised to see someone standing just outside the door with his hand raised to knock again.

Sebastian.

Mercedes's friend raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the scene he'd just walked in on. "Did I come at a bad time?"

Sam shrugged, stepping aside to let him in. "What are you doing here?"

Sebastian held up his hand. "Forgot my phone."

"Figures," Sam muttered, shutting the door.

Sebastian spotted his phone on the counter and walked over to grab it. As he picked it up, Sam folded his arms, leaning back against the kitchen island.

"So, what's the deal with you and Mercedes?" Sam asked casually. "You two together?"

Sebastian stilled for a moment, then turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "Why?"

Sam smirked. "Humor me."

Sebastian studied him for a moment before shrugging. "I met Mercedes eight years ago. She was working at Tavola back then."

Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah, Mitch mentioned she worked there. Said she got some big awards while she was at it."

Sebastian smiled a touch of pride in his expression. "She did. That's where she started building her reputation, working with celebrities and making a name for herself."

"For someone as horrible as Mercedes, that's... impressive," Sam admitted, though his tone was laced with sarcasm.

Sebastian laughed. "What's the deal with you two, anyway?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "She's a pain in the ass who judges me for enjoying my life. If she weren't Mitch's sister, I wouldn't bother being so nice to her."

Sebastian laughed louder this time, shaking his head. "Nice? You're an asshole to her."

Sam raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Sebastian's smile faded, and his tone grew serious. "Look, I don't know what's going on between you two, but maybe you could lay off her for a while."

Sam frowned. "Why?"

"Something happened to her," Sebastian said, his voice quiet but firm. "Something bad. So she doesn't need more shit from you. She needs peace, not to feel worse about herself."

Sam observed him, his expression unreadable.

Sebastian slipped his phone into his pocket and headed for the door. "Just think about it, Evans. She's not as horrible as you think. And if I weren't gay, trust me, I would be in that room with her right now."

With that, Sebastian left, leaving Sam alone in the penthouse. For a moment, he stood there, Sebastian's words echoing in his mind.

Something terrible happened to her.

Sam didn't know why that thought stuck with him, but it did. Shaking his head, he grabbed a glass of water and headed back to his room, trying—and failing—not to wonder what had happened to Mercedes Jones.